


Bath Holiday

by geekmama



Series: Lost and Found [21]
Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Mild Smut, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-04
Updated: 2017-07-04
Packaged: 2018-11-23 09:06:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11399436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geekmama/pseuds/geekmama
Summary: In theLost and Founduniverse, thePearlreaches England and complications arise as Jack takes Elizabeth to visit her aunt in Bath.





	1. Life and Death

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to Hereswith for her mad beta skilz, even on Christmas Day at one point!
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Jack slipped the heavy gold ring onto her finger.  
  
"No!" Elizabeth tried to jerk her hand away. "I thought we'd agreed--" But then she gasped in pain, again, and curled onto her side with a soft moan.  
  
"Easy, darlin’,” he soothed, though in desperate need of soothing himself. “Doctor’ll be here soon. But I'll not have some _petit bourgeois_ sawbones servin' you sauce with his physick. Young unmarried ladies of quality don’t jaunter about the countryside unchaparoned."  
  
“I’m a widow!”  
  
“You’re four and twenty, and barely look it.”  
  
“But… my aunt--"  
  
"—is in Bath, not here. You can spit in the world’s eye when we’ve arrived and you’re under her protection. Trust me for once, all right?"  
  
He kissed the cold fingers, and her eyes filled, then overflowed. She whispered, “Jack… I’m sorry. You must wish me at the devil.”  
  
“Don’t be—“  
  
“Jack!” Ana burst in, face set. “Doctor’s here, the landlady’s bringin’ ‘im up.”  
  
“Right.” He turned back to his stricken lover – his _love_ – and tried to smile. “Steady as she goes, eh?”  
  
“Don’t leave me!” The fingers gripped, now.  
  
“I won’t.”

 

  **2 ~**

In the event, he did leave her, shoo'd out by Ana and the landlady, the sight of so much blood -- far too much, he thought -- and by the doctor's words, matter-of-fact, slicing like knives: "A miscarriage, I'm afraid. Your first, I take it?"

Elizabeth had gaped, speechless, and then her eyes sought Jack's.  
  
A child. _Their_ child.  
  
But the tide of events intervened, another wave of cramping pain taking her, the landlady's bulk blocking Jack's view, and Ana grimly taking his arm, hauling him away.  
  
"There's nothing you can do here, Jack, and she won't thank you for staying. Go down to the taproom and have a drink or three. "  
  
And he was out in the hall, the door shutting firmly in his face.  
  
 _She won't thank you_.  
  
He descended the stairs as in a strong gale, and made his way to the taproom. The landlord took one look at him and poured the rum – the good stuff. Jack tossed it back without a second's hesitation, held the tankard out for more and repeated the procedure.  
  
"All right, there?" asked the landlord, with a worried brow.  
  
"Better," Jack lied, though the warmth of the liquor was already seeping through him. "Thanks, mate."

 

**3 ~**

The landlord tucked Jack into a quiet corner table, leaving him to keep company with a tankard, the remainder of the Good Stuff, and his flailing brain.

_She won't thank you_.  
  
For seeing her laid out and helpless with a woman's lot? For being the cause of it in the first place?  
  
Ana was probably right.  
  
Although, Anamaria wasn't his Lizzie.  
  
 _His_ Lizzie. That was the game they'd been playing.  
  
 _And what makes you think I’m yours, Pirate?_  
  
He mentally shoved her old question aside and found himself wondering what the devil was happening up there. Thinking he should have stayed.  
  
 _She won't thank you_.  
  
Swann wouldn't thank him either, he'd be bound. Jack gave a mirthless snort at the mere idea of informing the governor precisely what sort of succor had been offered his treasured daughter aboard the _Black Pearl_ these last months. Abandoning her skirts for breeches, bare feet, and hours spent precariously aloft; unsanctioned activities leading to mayhem and incarceration in the Canaries; a pitched battle with corsairs and a deep cut that would ever mar her beautiful shoulder; a week of stormy Biscayan weather that had kept her cabinbound and him exhausted, eager as she was to practice the skills in advanced sexual congress she'd absorbed these many weeks under his tutelage; and now, _with child by her erstwhile protector_.  
  
Lord, he should thank God fasting for what was going forth upstairs.  
  
Except he wasn't.  
  
He threw off his brooding mood with a curse and got to his feet. If he couldn't have the sea, and his _Pearl_ , left snugly anchored in Portsmouth, at least he could get some fresh air.

  
**4 ~**

The night was cold and still and full-moon-bright, redolent of wood smoke and a hint of stable.

Jack wrinkled his nose a bit as he walked.

They were much too far from the sea. Halfway between Portsmouth and Bath. Silly place for a pirate captain -- but Jack wasn't playing that part just now. Gentleman Privateer he was -- his hair ornaments and eyeblack left behind in the _Pearl_ 's Great Cabin, a nice selection of purloined finery, the latest stuff from France, in his capacious portmanteau -- and on holiday, providing a suitable escort for Elizabeth on her visit to "Aunt Min" -- Minerva Swann, widow of Weatherby's deceased brother.

Jack frowned. He'd told Swann he'd be glad to do this, but that was months ago. Now that the time was at hand, he found himself fidgeting over the task, and he wasn't sure Elizabeth was entirely happy, either -- though that might have been due to... her _situation_.

He swore, softly, again. How long had she been feeling poorly? She hadn't said anything, though she hadn't been eating much, these last two weeks, and she'd been awfully quiet when they'd disembarked.

Very unlike her.

Vivid pictures of her danced through his brain, her smiles, her laughter, the banked fire in her eyes after they'd made love, the unrepentant twinkle that belied her solemnity when he scolded, that flash when she was angry. She was rare and precious, and a pack of trouble, and he was very much afraid he'd henceforth be dead bored without her.

Nothing for it, then. _A bored Sparrow is dangerous thing_ , James told him once -- he could hear that wry drawl now. And Jack had to admit, it was no more than the truth.

But a child! That had knocked him acock. Elizabeth, too. What the devil had been amiss that she'd never conceived when Will was alive? He'd swear there'd been plenty of opportunity, they'd always been a loving pair, and a girl didn't acquire that kind of _enthusiasm_ through lack of happy experience.

He trained his thoughts on particular instances of her enthusiasm as his feet took him slowly round the yard, then out the gate and onto the road, where he stopped short. The hills stretched away all around the inn, for the bloody place was in the middle of nowhere, seemingly, but there were trees in lines along the post road and in the moonshadows was a slight figure hurrying , a chit of a girl it looked like, wrapped in a thin shawl against this bitter cold, carrying a large basket, and weeping -- he could see the silvery tracks of tears on her cheeks as she looked up at him in startlement.

Not good.

 

  **5 ~**

"You all right?" Jack called out, warily.  
  
The girl gripped the handle of her basket tighter. "Y-yes. Thank you. I'm f-fine." And then was unsuccessful in stifling a convulsive sob.  
  
He sighed with a roll of his eyes. And just then heard another sound. Mewing. From the basket.   
  
"Cats?" he asked with a wave, as she drew closer.  
  
She clutched the basket protectively with her other arm, now. "N-no. K-kittens. _My_ kittens!" She hurried past.  
  
Jack had a shrewd idea what had prompted this vehemence. Life and death, again. He argued with himself briefly, but, as happened all too often, the less logical half won. So he said, before she was out of earshot, "You keeping all of 'em? I could use a cat. Kitten."  
  
She stopped, turned back, uncertain. "You c-could?"  
  
He walked toward her. "Bein' a sea captain, I like cats, if they earn their keep."  
  
She stood staring as he approached, frightened, but wanting to trust him. Finally she blurted, "My brother was going to drown them! But he _shan't!_ " This last was pretty fierce, but then she dissolved into hiccuping sobs of despair.  
  
 _Lord_.  
  
"Here," he said, taking out his handkerchief and trading her for the basket. She complied with little resistance. The tempest was, thankfully, brief. She blew her nose, and as she dabbed at the tears with the edge of the wipe, he said to her, "What you need is a drink."  
  
She peered up with startled eyes.  
  
"I daresay the landlady -- or one of her crew, she was busy last time I saw her." He frowned, distracted by reality for a moment. But he pulled himself together. This was real, too, after all. "I daresay someone in this fine establishment would give you a toddy. You can drink it by the fire in the kitchen, and we'll have a bit of a parlay. What say you to that?"  
  
She gaped for a moment, then said, "Thank you! You're very nice!"  
  
He scowled. "Come on," he said, gruffly, and, the basket slung over his arm, led the way.

  
**6 ~**

The landlady met them at the door. "There you are! Your lady wife was asking for you, sir," she said, with an accusing look at Jack. Then it was, "Lawks! What've we here? Jane Woodman, what are you doing out at this time of night? Your mother'll be taken with an apoplexy, worrying over you!"  
  
Jack didn't stay to hear the rest of Jane's scold, taking the stairs two at a time and rushing to the closed door of the room. He was just wondering whether he should knock, or just go in, when it opened to emit the doctor.  
  
"There you are. She was asking for you. Getting rather upset."  
  
Jack swore.  
  
The doctor went on. "She'll be all right. I've given her some laudanum, just to help her rest tonight."  
  
"She's..." Jack cleared his throat. "She's lost it?"  
  
"Yes, not long after you left." The doctor frowned, looking at Jack through narrowed eyes. "You didn't know, did you?"  
  
"I... no."  
  
The man cracked a slight smile, finally. "Well, well. You new husbands are all alike. Not to worry. She's young and strong. There'll be others. She'll be fit as a fiddle in a no time. She was only a few weeks along. I've left instructions with her maid. She should be ready to travel again by Thursday, though I don't recommend bedding her for at least a month. I'll come by to check on her tomorrow. But there's nothing to worry about."  
  
Jack nodded, and suddenly bethought him of fees. "What do I owe you?" he said, patting his pockets, and realizing he'd left his purse in the room.  
  
But the doctor said, "We'll settle it tomorrow. Go in and see her now." And he opened the door for Jack.

  
**7 ~**

Ana was scowling, but her expression lightened when she saw him. "There you are! I'm glad you're back. She's--"  
  
"--been asking, I know," Jack snapped.  
  
Elizabeth's eyes were closed, and she looked very thin and pale in the big bed.  
  
Ana said, rather gently, "She'll do, Jack. I'll just go downstairs and you can sit with her for a while."  
  
Jack nodded, and went to the bed, but said to Ana before she left, "Take care of Jane and the kittens, all right? I'll be down in a bit."  
  
"Jane and the kittens?" Ana repeated, blankly.  
  
"Embryonic ship's cats. You'll see." Jack waved her out.  
  
"Kittens?" Elizabeth opened sleepy eyes.  
  
Jack came and sat down next to her carefully. "How do you feel?"  
  
"Devilish," she said, and groped for his hand. He took hers up and squeezed it. Tears glistened in her lovely eyes. "I'm sorry," she whispered.  
  
"Nothing to be sorry for," he said gruffly. "At least...." But grief scrambled his thoughts, so after a moment he just kissed her hand, then, when her tears overflowed, embraced her. "Hush, sweeting, they'll murder me for upsetting you again."  
  
She chuckled, sadly, and he let her go. She sniffed, and then said, "What's this about kittens?"  
  
"Basket of 'em. Jane's brother was going to drown 'em, but he shan't -- or so says Jane. She was running away, I believe. The landlady knows her."  
  
"Drown them! Oh, no. Will you bring me one?"  
  
"Make you feel better?" Jack smiled. Elizabeth nodded, sleepily. "Wait here, then. I'll bring you the best of the lot."  
  
*  
  
Five minutes later, she was drifting off, a plump, grey kitten curled snug asleep, against her neck.  
  
"Ship's cat, see?" murmured Jack. "Knows his duty already."  
  
The ghost of a smile touched her lips.

 


	2. A Lack of Communication

**1 ~**  
  
Elizabeth was pretending to be as somnolent as the grey kitten on her lap. Eyes closed, she swayed gently in the corner of the well-sprung carriage as they drove through the wintery English countryside on the final leg of the journey from Portsmouth to Bath. From the _Black Pearl_ to an elegant townhouse in Green Street. From Captain Jack Sparrow to her Aunt Minerva.  
  
Elizabeth's lip trembled and she firmed it immediately. It would not do. The irresponsible behavior--the _idyll_ she had shared with Jack _\--_ must become a thing of the past. Neither of them had bargained for the mundane, yet in this case so extraordinary, outcome of their illicit love: a child. The dream Elizabeth had been living since the _Black Pearl_ had set sail from Port Royal must end. She was a widow of gentle birth, of good family, an heiress, and since she now knew that she was capable of carrying on a line of descent, she must act responsibly in doing so.  
  
She wondered how she would bear it.  
  
These last months… how her time with Jack on the _Black Pearl_ had eased the pain of Will's death. The days and days of sun and sea, thrilling adventure always on the horizon; the nights of laughter and love – thrilling adventure in themselves! As much as she had appreciated Jack for the last five years, pirate, good man, and _friend_ , she now knew he was more, so much more than she'd ever realized.  
  
But he was not made to be a husband or father. Concern and sympathy she'd sensed from him these last days, but along with them had come a sort of horrified reluctance to speak of what had happened. She didn't blame him! She felt the same, to a degree. Yet she could not help but wonder if he felt anything at all for the child they had lost, save relief that it had passed away.  
  
After five years of marriage, she had thought herself resigned to being childless, but this incident had opened her eyes. If the baby had lived... ah, what joy to have had a child. _Jack's_ child.  
  
But it had not lived, and though she would not devalue that small spark of life by saying it was all for the best, she knew she should be glad that she would not be forcing Jack into such an undesired role.

And she could move on. Find someone else, someone more... suitable.

Someone who was not her piratical, heroic, amusing, fascinating, _beloved_ Captain Jack Sparrow.  
  
*

Jack watched his erstwhile lover, swaying in the corner of the carriage, pretending to be asleep.

Elizabeth. His Lizzie.

Mother of his child.

She had held up remarkably well. No vapors, no blue devils. No mention at all of the small life that’d been lost.

The latter point affected him most strangely.

It was absurd, of course, to think of himself as a husband and father – for that’s what it would have come to, if the child had lived. Provided she would have had him.

But no doubt she thought it absurd, too. _Mrs. Captain Jack Sparrow._ Ha!

Probably thanking her lucky stars for a fortunate escape, as surely he should be.

The trouble was, he wasn’t. This wasn’t relief he was feeling, not by a long chalk.

Felt more like… grief.

 

  **2 ~**

“Oh, merciful Heaven!” exclaimed Minerva Swann, trundling down the staircase in her robe and slippers, aware that her eyes were nearly starting from their sockets and quite unable to help it. “ _Elizabeth!_ ”

She might not have recognized the young woman before her, so tall and graceful, save that the lovely smile was the same.

Elizabeth held out her hands and said, “I would ask _how do you do_ , but I can see you’re well – unchanged!”

“Nonsense,” Minerva said, fondly, brushing the hands aside and embracing her niece. Ah, she was pale, poor lamb, and there was a certain gravity in the clear gaze, both evidence of Elizabeth’s loss. Minerva felt the slender shoulders tremble a little and petted and soothed for a moment. One knew what it was to be a widow, after all.

But then Elizabeth gave a watery chuckle. “Indeed, Aunt, I’m fine, and must introduce you to… to my friend.” And she gestured toward the young man lingering by the door.

Or was he young? Minerva eyed him curiously, and with a growing realization that he was something out of the ordinary. Very much so.

He came forward as Elizabeth made the introduction – “Aunt, this is Captain Jack Sparrow. Captain Sparrow, my aunt, Minerva Swann” – and he bowed over Minerva’s hand. “Happy to meet you, ma’am.”

Minerva blinked, staring as the captain straightened, then felt her cheeks heat as a smirk curved his lips. Obviously he was fully aware of the effect he had upon the weaker sex.

Minerva cleared her throat and curtsied coolly. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Captain. My brother-in-law has mentioned you in his letters. I understand you once saved Elizabeth’s life.”

“More than once,” Elizabeth said, rather quietly, and Minerva then observed the glance the two exchanged. _Oh! Oh dear!_

“Indeed?” said Minerva, agitated. She composed herself and said to the captain, “There are not words enough to express my thanks for preserving the life of my dear niece. I understand, too, that you have carried an English letter of marque these many years. How good of you to take so much time away from your important duties to bring Elizabeth here to me. Will you be staying long in England?”

The captain looked less than happy at this. “It depends. On a number of things. I’ve some business in London and Portsmouth, for a start—“

“Well, you must come to us for Christmas,” Minerva said, secretly hoping he would do no such thing. “It’s in less than a fortnight! I give a delightful party on Christmas Eve, almost a ball, for I clear the gallery upstairs and hire musicians, best to be had. And of course there will be dinner, with all manner of treats. A grand occasion to present my niece.” 

“I’m sure,” the captain said, smiling faintly.

“Aunt Min—“ Elizabeth turned, frowning.

But Minerva said quickly, “Now, Elizabeth, you look fagged to death, in spite of your beauty, and after that long drive today it’s no wonder.”

“I’m sorry we arrived so late—“

“Not at all, not at all,” Minerva exclaimed. “But come, bid the captain good night and I’ll take you upstairs. We’ll have you tucked into bed in a trice.”

“But… _Jack!_ ” And Elizabeth turned to the captain.

“No, love—Eliz—Mrs. Turner,” Captain Sparrow said firmly, though his eyes… _oh, dear_ , Minerva thought again. “You rest. I’ll see you in the morning – if I may call?” This last to Minerva.

“Of course, my dear sir. But not too early, mind.”

“You’re not staying with us?” Elizabeth said, sharply. “Aunt—“

But the captain broke in again. “No, I’ll be lodging at the Royal George. No worries. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He bowed, then let himself out as Minerva’s footman entered, carrying Elizabeth’s bags.

  
  **3 ~**

The golden light of a snowy winter dawn woke her, along with a tiny gray paw patting her cheek.

“You darling!” she chuckled, and drew the kitten under the warm blanket to cuddle. However, the fire, banked for the night, had been brought to life once more by some carefully quiet hand. As the room grew warmer, the kitten grew restless and presently indicated that a dish of cream would not come amiss.

Elizabeth rose and peeped out the draped window, taking in the frosty scene, and immediately thinking how very much Jack would dislike this cold. Memory and a nagging anxiety instantly returned to plague her as she began her morning toilette, but the coming of Aunt Min’s dresser, Mrs. Pierce, forced her to adopt a cheerful mien, and she found it was more or less unfeigned by the time she was descending the stairs.

It was not to last.

“A note, for you, ma’am,” said the footman, with a bow, “Sent round from the Royal George.” He held out the salver with the note upon it, and Elizabeth hesitated, as though it might burn, for she recognized at once the elegant, spidery hand directing it to _Mrs. Turner_.

It did burn, though not as badly as it might have, for it was Jack’s voice, friend and lover.

_Elizabeth –_

_The devil’s in it, but word has come from Portsmouth that there’s some plaguey nonsense about the_ Pearl _’s status as a letter of marque. Leaving by the mail coach at first light as it’s said to have the best chance of getting through – the snow’s uncommon thick. I’ll return, or send word. You enjoy your visit._

_Yours, as ever._

_Jack_

Visit. Only a visit. She breathed a sigh of relief, then, and realized she’d been holding her breath. He wasn’t leaving her, it was only a visit. 

“Good morning, my dear,” said Aunt Min, bustling in from the direction of the morning room. “Is that a note from the captain?”

“Good morning!” Elizabeth said, with a smile. “Yes, it’s from Jack. He’s had to go back to Portsmouth on business to do with his letter of marque, but he assures me he’ll be back as soon as he can manage it.”

Aunt Min clucked, saying, “Oh, gracious! And the snow lying thick on all the roads. Dreadful weather, I’ve not seen it like this in years. But Elizabeth, my love, do you really think you should refer to the captain by his Christian name? Don’t you think it might encourage untoward familiarity?”

Elizabeth opened her mouth, shut it again as she thought of the many intimate moments in which she’d whispered… murmured… called… _cried_ that name in the last six months. “Yes, aunt,” she finally said, meekly, feeling inclined to laugh… and weep.

  
  **4 ~**

Jack was swearing a blue streak as he left the port admiral’s office and headed back to the _Pearl_. After an unconscionably long journey, in which he’d seen more snow fall than he’d thought possible in this part of England, he’d arrived in Portsmouth to find the authorities ready to lock up half his crew. Upon investigation it seemed they’d done little more to offend than any sailor would do on shore leave, but because of the _Pearl_ ’s history, and her people’s status as privateers, these sins had put them beyond the pale.

Actually he’d warned the Pearls that this would be the case if they didn’t keep civil.

But when the cat’s away, mice will get up to all sorts of egregious mischief, and Jack now found himself angry at his crew, at the unreasonable and condescending manner of the port admiral and his minions, at the weather (coming on to blow, with freezing rain beginning to spit), and at life in general.

What he wouldn’t have given to be whisked away to a tropical clime, accompanied solely by darling Lizzie.

_Elizabeth._

He ducked into one of the better public houses near the waterfront, a cozy looking place, shooed away a couple of shabby “Portsmouth brutes” (summoning enough charm to avoid giving them offense), and ordered hot punch, paper, pen and ink.

_Elizabeth –_

_I hope this finds you well. I’m here in Portsmouth, but find that the_ Pearl _’s outstayed her welcome already and we’ll be obliged to move the ship up to Bristol. This has the advantage of being closer to Bath, but I fear beating North in this weather is going to be a lengthy and difficult adventure. I’m rather glad you’re safe and warm there with your aunt, and won’t have to listen to the profanity that’s sure to arise in short order, for it’s mainly the crew’s misbehavior that’s set all this inconvenience in motion. I mean to take it out of their hides by laying on regardless, or as much sail as the_ Pearl _will take at least._

_Keep a weather eye peeled, and you’ll see me before you know it._

_Jack_

 

  **5 ~**

The day after the _Pearl_ weighed anchor for Bristol, there was a surprisingly messy accident on the road going north from Portsmouth. The mail coach overturned into a deep ditch, severely damaging the vehicle and breaking the leg of the driver. The few passengers were lucky enough to be uninjured, but they had all they could do to keep themselves and the driver warm and in what comfort could be managed until help arrived.

In the anxiety and confusion, they gave no thought to the mail, which in any case was now soaked and ruined, the bag having burst open in the fall. There had been a brief, inconvenient thaw earlier that morning and business letters, personal correspondence, and holiday parcels lay strewn over the slushy landscape, including one particular missive addressed in an elegant, spidery script…

_Mrs. Elizabeth Turner_  
_c/o Mrs. Minerva Swann_  
_12A Green Street  
_ _Bath_


	3. An Unsatisfactory Affair

**1 ~**  
  
”My dear, you are magnificent!” Minerva Swann exclaimed, looking her niece over, from the topmost curls of the girl’s elaborate new coiffure to the toes of the satin slippers that peeped from beneath the gown of deep blue velvet, the embroidered stomacher, a delicate pattern of gold on beige satin, making the whole festive, rather than somber.

Elizabeth frowned at her reflection in the mirror. “You don’t think it’s too much?”

“My dear, it’s Christmas, and nearly a year since poor Will passed. It’s not in the least too much,” Minerva assured her. “Moreover, you will be meeting many people tonight, some of high estate and for the first time!” And some _not_ for the first time, such as Viscount Allyn, whose attentions had become most marked this last week. Minerva and Allyn’s mother were thrilled, for they were very old friends – had spent several years of their youth at the same convent school, in fact.  – and the idea of their families becoming allied in such a way could not but please. Early days, perhaps, to be thinking of such a thing, however. Elizabeth seemed disinclined to encourage Allyn, though whether this was due to her widowed state or to some less appropriate reason could not be readily discerned.

There had been some reports that worried Minerva, from her dresser, Mrs. Pierce, who’d waited on Elizabeth since her arrival, and from the chambermaid, too. But her niece had refused to allow Minerva to call in a physician, insisting that she felt very well and there was not the least need. And indeed, Elizabeth looked quite stunning this evening, though Min knew the artful application of rouge could do wonders for lips and cheeks that were a trifle pale.

“I wish…” Elizabeth began, then caught Minerva’s eyes with her own.

“You wish what?” Minerva asked gently.

But Elizabeth shook her head, smiled and said, “Nothing. Aunt Min, you have been so kind to me.”

“Nonsense!” Minerva said, heartily. “But if you feel inclined to reward me, you can give Allyn that additional dance he craves. He’s a handsome man and wealthy, too. Not that his wealth signifies, but… your Will wouldn’t have wanted you to pine away, you know.”

Elizabeth’s flush at these words owed nothing to artiface, but she only said, “No, you’re right, he wouldn’t,” and bent to kiss Minerva on her cheek. 

  
**2 ~**

Christmas Eve, and still no word from Jack. Elizabeth bit her lip, allowing herself to scowl into the mirror. Quite safe to do so, after all, now that her aunt had gone out of the room.

Her spirits had taken a dreadful battering these last two weeks, and Jack was to blame. She was by turns worried and angry, and lonely always, in spite of her aunt’s efforts to distract her with civilized pleasures and introduce her to Bath society. Viscount Allyn, indeed! Elizabeth sniffed.

And then felt anxiety creep over her. No word from Jack since that note he’d sent the morning he’d left for Portsmouth. What if there had been some accident? Oh, she should have tried to send a messenger down to the _Pearl_ , surely it would have been justifiable after the first week?  But she had not, and now two weeks were past. Christmas Eve and still no word.

If he did not return, this would be her first Christmas without him in many years.

Her thoughts flew back to the first, when he had come to them, been stricken with an ague, and on recovering had encountered and, most fortunately, made his pact with Norrington; the second, when he’d taken her in secret to Tortuga so she could bid on and buy that beautiful sword for Will; the third when they’d been so amused by his playful pursuit of her maid Estrella; the fourth, when they’d all been so worried about Anamaria’s sister and nephew, caught in a slave uprising in Port au Prince; and the fifth, last year, when he and Will had come to the aid of a family in need and had barely made it back to Port Royal for the holiday.

Such happy times, Will at her side, and Jack, dear Jack to entertain and tease, care for and love them both.

And now, not a word.

She stiffened, growing angry. It was because of the child. Like a dash of freezing water, they’d both awakened to reality and Jack had taken it to heart, so much so that he was… gone.

But he couldn’t. He _couldn’t!_

“Oh, I shall go mad!” she hissed, pressing the heels of her hands against her temples. Then she heard a mewing enquiry, felt an insistent pressure brush round her ankles, and had to laugh. She bent and scooped up the kitten.

“It’s all right, darling,” she told it, holding it to her cheek. “I’ll be fine, really I will.”

And she would. She kissed the top of the kitten’s head, set her down, straightened and shook herself a bit, taking a deep breath. She would not let these blue devils ruin her Christmas, or, more importantly, her dear aunt’s.

So it was that five minutes later she was able to descend the staircase in her most queenly manner, allowing a smile to touch her lips at the sight of the party that had just entered the foyer. She held out her hand, saying, “Viscount Allyn, how charming to meet you again.” 

 

**3 ~**

She gave the viscount that second dance, and was preparing to embark on a third after the late dinner buffet had been savored, and Minerva was vastly pleased. “Oh, Augusta, do you really think…?”

Augusta, the viscount’s mother, looked complacent. “Perhaps, Minerva. Perhaps.”

But before that third dance began, a latecomer was announced to the room: “Captain Jack Sparrow.” Minerva gave a small but dramatic gasp and turned to look.

The captain was appropriately dressed, at least, and in a rather magnificent fashion, though there was something rakish in his style too, the cut of his clothing, the way he carried himself, the light in his eyes as his glance met Elizabeth’s.

Elizabeth said something to Allyn and the viscount followed her across the room to greet the captain. Minerva, approaching as well, fancied the captain’s _sangfroid_ slipped a trifle at the sight of Elizabeth’s swain.

“Captain!” said Elizabeth in greeting, “I hope all is well? We’d had no word and I scarcely knew when we could expect to see you again.”

“No word?” Captain Sparrow frowned. “But—“

“None!” Elizabeth said, and for a moment Minerva had a dreadful fear her niece was going to burst into tears, there was such a war of emotion on that fair countenance. _Oh dear! Oh dear!_ But it passed, and as Elizabeth calmly introduced the viscount to the captain, Minerva wondered if she’d imagined her niece’s distress.

The two men exchanged bows, then Sparrow said to Minerva as the music began. “How do you do, ma’am?”

“Very well, indeed, Captain Sparrow,” Minerva replied. “May I wish you a happy Christmas?”

“I thank you.” Sparrow bowed again, then turned to Elizabeth. “Will you dance with me?”

Elizabeth shook her head. “I fear I cannot, being promised to Allyn for this one, and to another for the next set.”

“Is that so?” The captain lifted a brow.

Elizabeth merely inclined her head in farewell, took Allyn’s outstretched arm and was led away and into the dance.

Minerva said to the captain, “She’s quite taken with the viscount, as you see.”

Sparrow, watching the couple, muttered, “You’d think so, wouldn’t you?”

“I beg your pardon?” Minerva demanded.

“Nothing,” Sparrow said. He looked away from Elizabeth, and straight at Minerva, and smiled. “Do you dance, ma’am?” He held out his hand.

Minerva’s pique vanished, being rapidly replaced by a flutter of feminine pleasure ( _he is_ _the handsomest creature…_ ). And in spite of a small but not insignificant stab of concern for her niece, she set her hand on the captain’s arm and said, “I would enjoy it above all things!”

 

**4 ~**

Elizabeth went up to her rooms as soon as Vicount Allyn’s party had taken their leave, her plea of a headache, for which her aunt was all sympathy, not entirely facetious. Mrs. Pierce and a housemaid came at the first pull of the bell. Within a few minutes the beautiful but uncomfortable gown and shoes were shed, a cloud of winter nightgown enveloped her, and her hair was unpinned and brushed out.

“Will that be all, ma’am?” Mrs. Pierce asked.

“Yes, thank you, I shall brush my teeth and go straight to bed. Merry Christmas, Mrs. Pierce.”

“And to you, ma’am,” the dresser smiled, and shut the bedroom door behind her.

Elizabeth closed her eyes. She had thought she might weep, once she was alone, but all she felt now was a kind of exhausted lethargy. Jack was gone. He’d danced once, with Aunt Minerva, and then had departed without so much as a word.

She had ruined everything.

What had possessed her to indulge the fit of pique that had seized her on seeing him enter the room with all his habitual insouciance? She knew what it was: she’d been unable to either fall on his neck in relief or berate him as she’d wished to, not in such a public place. And so she had let him know of her displeasure in the only way she could.

More fool she.

But… at least he had returned to Bath. Perhaps he would come in the morning, or sometime tomorrow at least, and she would have her chance.

She should get some sleep. It wouldn’t do to look heavy-eyed, or to lose her temper again. They had to talk, she must tell him… what?

Unsure, but too tired to think clearly, Elizabeth rose, dutifully brushed her teeth, then fetched the gray kitten from where the tiny creature was curled on a chair and took her to off to bed.

*

A fierce spitting and the nip of tiny claws through the bedclothes woke her abruptly, not long after she’d drifted off.

“What? What is it?” Elizabeth sat up, squinting in the dim light, reaching out to smooth the coat of her frightened companion. And then she heard the noise at the window.


	4. The Journey Home

**1 ~**  
  
Elizabeth got out of bed quickly, grabbed up a slipper – not much of a weapon, but the first thing she could put her hand to – and strode over to the window as the latch gave and one side swung open. Freezing air and some whirling snowflakes swarmed in, along with Jack, who thumped to the floor in an inelegant crouch.

“You!” she exclaimed.

“Aye, _me_ , what did you think?” he said, standing up. “Or were you expecting Allyn?”

She gaped for a half second, then attacked, punctuating her words with harsh blows of the slipper. “How _dare_ you! How _dare_ you _say_ such a thing, as though you didn’t _abandon_ me here without a _word!_ ”

“Ow! Lizzie – _ow!_ Stop that, you vile wench, I did send word, upon me bloody soul!” And he managed to grab the slipper and threw it aside, then grabbed her wrists.

“Let me go, Jack Sparrow!” she hissed, trying to shake him off.

“Not likely,” he retorted, maneuvering her quickly backwards, toward the bed. “You and I need to talk.”

And then she gave a small yelp as she fell, and Jack fell too, right atop her, settling himself strategically to subdue her. Quite furious at being thus manhandled, she struggled fiercely, but he’d apparently done this sort of thing before and easily foiled her efforts. She stiffened and hissed at him again: “How _dare_ you! If you don’t let me up at once I shall _scream!_ ”

“Will you, though?” he asked, looking down his nose at her.

She stared up at him.

They were both breathing hard, and he was a heavy weight upon her, his scent in her nostrils, his beautiful, shadowed face quite solemn as he watched her. She began to tremble, and her voice trembled, too, as she spoke: “What do you mean you sent word?”

“I sent a letter more than a fortnight ago, before we sailed for Bristol.”

“Bristol? The _Pearl_ is in Bristol?”

“Aye. Didn’t think I’d make it here by Christmas, the way the wind held against us, but I knew I’d sent that letter and that all would be right and tight.”

“It… wasn’t.”  

“I gathered as much.”

Tears stung, she was on the verge of weeping. “Let me up.”

“Ha! So you can go at me with that slipper again? I think not.”

She bit her lip. “I won’t hit you—“

“Too right you won’t. I get enough of that from Ana, thank you kindly.”

She gave a watery gasp of laughter. “Jack, we have to talk.”

“Aye, we can talk just fine like this. You thought I was gone for good, didn’t you?”

He wasn’t smiling, not at all, and there was something in his voice…

“Yes,” she whispered. “Because of… of….”

“Our child that was lost?”

 _Our child_. Her eyes filled with tears at the stark truth, the wound still raw, but now… shared.  “Oh, Jack.”

He rolled to lie beside her then, and pulled her into his arms.

*

There were tears glistening on his cheek, though perhaps they were hers, it was difficult to tell.  But she wiped them away with her fingers anyway and asked him, “Would you have married me? “

“Aye. Would you’ve had me?”

She smiled, uncertainty at an end. “Yes.”

He smiled, too, stroking her hair, his rough fingers catching in the strands, just as they’d done most nights for many months. “So you’re not set on tying the knot with that dead bore Allyn, then?”

“He’s not a bore!”

“ ‘Course he is. Now, listen, love, I’ve been thinking. Had a lot of time to think, actually, these last two weeks, with the bloody wind fighting us the whole way to Bristol. It ain’t an easy run at the best of times, but Lord, you wouldn’t credit the storms—“

“Oh, dear,” she said, interrupting. “But Jack, what _were_ you thinking?”

He seemed to hesitate, then said, “Was thinking how I didn’t want to lose you, love. Not for any treasure you or I could name. And that… well, it would’ve been interesting. You and me, and… and the little one.”

“ _Interesting_ , indeed,” she murmured, and kissed him. Then looked at him straightly. “It could still happen, you know.”

“I know!” Jack’s eyes widened a bit at the thought. “You game, love? Are you willing to throw in your lot with an old pirate?”

“Captain Jack Sparrow, King’s privateer and my best friend in the world? I’m willing to take the risk.”

“If it chances.”

“If it chances,” she echoed.

He kissed her. “A truly piratical vow, I warrant. Though I expect your da would prefer we settle things _before_ offspring are in the offing.”

She gave a moue of displeasure and said, “I have it in mind that when we marry it shall be with all due ceremony at St. George’s in Port Royal.”

“There’s a thought. Your father can give you away, and Norrington can do the same for me.”

She giggled.

And the bedroom door opened.

Elizabeth whispered, “The maid!”

Jack nodded and lay very still.

To no avail, however. The girl exclaimed, “Lawks!” and scurried across to close the window, which, in the heat of the moment, Jack had failed to completely secure upon entering. But the maid glanced at the bed as she passed, froze in startled horror, then shrieked.

  

 **2 ~**  
  
It was the work of seconds to stifle the little maid, but the damage had been done and within a minute Aunt Minerva was bustling in, tying her wrapper, her cap askew.

“What is the meaning of this?” she exclaimed on seeing Jack sitting on the edge of the bed.

He rose and bowed. “Good morning, ma’am.”

“I’ll _good morning_ you, you scoundrel!” Aunt Minerva scolded. “How dare you insinuate yourself here, you… you… _pirate!_ ”

Jack turned to Elizabeth, looking hurt. “You told!”

“She’s known for years, Jack. I used to read blood curdling pamphlets in this very house, all about your youthful escapades.”

“Oh,” Jack said, not quite subduing a smirk.

Elizabeth grinned, then said quickly to her outraged relative. “Aunt Minerva, please! Jack is here with my blessing. I beg you will refrain from hysterics, or notifying the authorities.”

Aunt Minerva’s bosom was heaving, but she pressed her lips together briefly, then addressed the maid and her housekeeper and footman, both of whom had just entered. “Very well, Mrs. Morris, Annabelle, James: I want no gossip, do you hear? And I want breakfast on the table in one hour.” She watched the three servants leave the room, closed the door behind them herself, and turned back to Elizabeth and Jack. “Now. Explain.”

  

 **3 ~**  
  
A magnificent Christmas breakfast was served in the grand manner somewhat over an hour later. The errant captain had tidied himself, but the ladies were still in their night clothes and wrappers, for there were no other guests, and, as Minerva observed, “if one cannot dress as one pleases in one’s own home on Christmas morning the world is coming to something, that’s all.”

The world was coming to something in any case. Clandestine and utterly romantic love affairs, vital words left unsaid until the very nick of time, promises made, to be kept anon. Minerva sipped her coffee and peered at Jack and Elizabeth thoughtfully. _Two peas in a pod_ , the captain had shrugged when the tale had been concluded, and Minerva feared he was right. Elizabeth was a sad rake—and the dearest creature. How she would be missed.

“You mean to leave as soon as tomorrow, then?” Minerva asked, a little wistfully.

Elizabeth nodded. “We’ll come to visit again, I promise. But… we need to go home.”

Minerva shook her head. “I would like to be a fly on the wall when you tell your father what you’ve just been telling me,” she said, her voice predicting no happy outcome.

But Elizabeth took Jack’s hand across the table. “He’ll understand. He knows Jack.”

“And he knows you,” the captain retorted, with a teasing smile.

_Two peas in a pod._

  

 **4 ~**  
  
It poured buckets the following day, but Elizabeth didn’t mind in the least. Home. She was going home.

The kitten was in a snug basket, and Elizabeth and Jack sat close in a nest of soft blankets and furs, swaying as the coach bowled along the muddy but well-kept road to Bristol, to the great harbor with its many ships, where the _Black Pearl_ waited.

_Home._

The _Pearl_ brooded in the rain, anchored fore and aft in the harbor, and Elizabeth’s thoughts went out to the ship as they were rowed across to board. _I’m home, dear, for better or worse! And richer and poorer, in sickness and in health…_

She was lifted up up up in a bosun’s chair, since she was wearing one of her gowns as well as a heavy boat cloak, and carrying the kitten’s basket. The moment her feet touched the deck, Gibbs and Anamaria were there to hustle her out of the rain and into the door of the Great Cabin, under the shelter of the quarterdeck.

“Here we are, darling,” she said, letting the kitten out to cautiously explore her new surroundings. Elizabeth shed her sodden cloak and looked about as well.

The drapes were open, the gallery windows letting in the scant afternoon light of this rainy day, and a hanging brazier added a warm glow. The big carved table was laden with a feast – cold meats, fruit, bread and pastries, wine – and many candles, rather as it had been that first time she’d seen it, in Barbossa’s company. But so many things had changed since that time, the cabin was far cleaner, and everywhere there was evidence of Jack. His favorite weapons and mementos gave it an exotic, splendid air, and his many books, charts, and navigational instruments told of the quick and curious mind that worked behind the handsome face. And, half hidden by a beautifully painted Chinese screen, was his bed. _Their_ bed. The bed in which she’d found such bliss. The bed in which she’d conceived.

And might again, someday.

The door behind her opened and she turned to find Jack coming in, dripping profusely and smiling. He closed the door, and she watched as he took off his hat and rain gear, and then he came to her, damp as he was, and took her in his arms.

“Welcome home, love,” he said and kissed her.

_Home._

 

~.~ 


End file.
